Trial Run
by EHfan
Summary: Jacob Hood is called to Buffalo while he is still evaluating his latest handler, one Special Agent Rachel Young.  Will she live up to Hood's expectations?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: From what Rachel says in the episode "Resurrection" we know she was only supposed to be assigned to Hood's detail for three months. This story posits why and how their partnership began.

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Special Agent Rachel Young was seething with resentment as she sat behind the wheel of her SUV trapped in a Sunday afternoon traffic jam. Her annoyance wasn't directed at the traffic but at her current situation. _'I can't believe it. I worked my ass off years and for what, for this?' _she thought resentfully.

Rachel had decided she wanted to be an FBI agent when she was ten years old and, with single minded determination, began to shape her life to achieve that objective. While the other little girls in her class were taking ballet lessons, she signed up for marital arts. She had her black belt before she had her driver's license. In high school she badgered her father into letting her take boxing lessons so she could learn how to fight.

Even in her rebellious teenaged years she hadn't completely discarded her goal. She was smart enough to keep the more _interesting_ of her escapades from her teachers or her father. She was also smart enough to keep away from anything illegal, anything that would bring her to the attention of the authorities. She kept up both her rigorous physical training and her grades to insure that she would still have the option to join the Bureau if she chose to do so.

9/11 sealed her decision. She would not only join the Bureau; she'd join the Counter-terrorism Division. She switched her major to Mid-Eastern Studies and minored in languages. By the time she graduated college she was almost fluent in Arabic and knew the rudiments of both Farsi and Dari.

Law school was still the preferred method for becoming an agent so she applied to every school in the District. She decided on George Washington solely due to its proximity to the Hoover Building. Exploiting her father's connections she wrangled various internships in the Bureau during law school. When she graduated she had an offer to join the Legal Department but she made it clear that she was only interested in a field agent position.

So she had taken, and aced, the two stages of testing and was soon headed to Quantico. She kept up her manic pace and was acknowledged by both the instructors and her classmates as being a rising star. Physically, she out-performed all of the women and most of the men. Intellectually, she wasn't at the top of the class; but her inquisitive attitude and shrewd judgment impressed her instructors more than simple book knowledge would have. Rachel was rewarded at the end of her twenty weeks at the Academy with her coveted spot in Counter-terrorism.

Ironically, it was because of her language skills that she received an assignment that irked her. She was put on a desk monitoring chatter on the Internet. After almost a year of this, and repeated requests for a transfer to a field assignment, her dream came true. She was assigned to Task Force Eagle and sent to Kabul.

Rachel loved the work in Afghanistan. Because of her earlier studies, she quickly picked up the language. That and her no-nonsense attitude soon made her the unofficial leader of the squad. The intel they provided the military was vital and she thrived on the danger the work entailed. But after six months she received the first check in her career.

The squad was due to be rotated state-side for a period of rest and relaxation and some additional training. Her first intimation something unusual was happening was when she was pulled aside by her squad leader. Rachel knew the man didn't particularly like her. He was an older agent, near retirement, and he was definitely old school. He didn't think women belonged in the field, especially when the field was a war zone. Furthermore, his command of the language was poor and he resented the leadership role she had assumed due to her superior skills.

Rachel knew whatever Perdue wanted when he called her in, it wouldn't be good. She was stunned when he told her that as a favor to his old friend, T.C. McGruder, he was "lending" her to the Executive Protection Detail. It was only for three months he assured her with a smirk. She knew, however, at the end of those three months it would be impossible for her to re-join the squad; her spot would be given to someone else. She would be stuck on another desk job until a slot opened up in a new squad.

She scowled as she recalled that conversation. _'Bastard, lending me out like I'm a piece of chattel.' _When she met with McGruder she had thought, at first, this detail wouldn't be so bad. A valuable FBI asset needed protection. There had already been one near miss and credible death threats were still coming in. It sounded like it might be interesting, on a short term basis. Rachel was quickly disillusioned by the job.

Even before she met the asset, other members of the EPD filled her in on the problem. Unlike most rationale people whose lives had been threatened, this guy resented the protection detail. He never listened, he was arrogant, and he treated his handlers like they were idiots. Rachel had no trouble believing the gossip after meeting him in the Director's office. The man had been downright rude. He had the nerve to question her qualifications merely because of her appearance and then tried to put her in the wrong by asking a trick question.

Then there was the work, which was nothing less than mind-numbingly boring. After six months in a war zone where her job literally meant the difference between life and death, Rachel had been reduced to being a _babysitter_. In the two weeks she had been on the job her work had consisted of sitting in a lab in the Hoover Building while the asset did some weird experiments, escorting him to meetings on the Hill, and generally chauffeuring him around.

She had thought the low point was when she had to take him grocery shopping last weekend. She almost screamed with frustration when he had casually strolled up and down the aisles of the store, leisurely inspecting everything on the shelves. But this was much worse. She had been pissed when he had informed her yesterday he needed to go to the mall to buy a Christmas present for his nephew.

She flicked a quick look, filled with loathing, at her passenger. There he sat, freaking Dr. genius Jacob pain-in-the-ass Hood, cheerfully humming along to the radio. A radio she had tried to turn off claiming driver's privilege. She vented her feelings by blowing her horn at a car that attempted to cut in front of her.

"You know, if you dislike driving in traffic, you could have let me drive." Jacob offered mildly.

Rachel took a breath. She made it a point never to show irritation at anything Hood said or did. She also made it a point only to speak only when spoken to. "You know very well that you can't drive yourself. You don't have training in evasive driving maneuvers, if someone tried to take you out you'd be helpless."

Jacob looked at the traffic that was bumper to bumper. "I don't think that even you could maneuver in this traffic."

Rachel did not deign to reply. Soon they were at the mall. Jacob objected when Rachel began to pull into a handicapped space. "Wait, what are you doing? We can't park here."

Rachel looked at him impatiently. "We can park anywhere we damn well please. I have a FBI plates on the car."

"That," Jacob retorted, "Is a gross abuse of power. You can park here if you like, but I'll refuse to get out of the car."

Without a word Rachel reversed out of the space and began the slow crawl up and down the aisles of the parking lot looking for a space on this busy weekend. After ten minutes Jacob became exasperated.

"Look, I'm only going to one store and I know exactly what I want to buy. Why don't you just drop me off and circle the lot. I mean, I'll only be a few minutes."

"I'm your protection detail. I can hardly protect you if _you're_ in the mall and _I'm_ stuck out here in the parking lot." Rachel replied flatly.

Jacob waited until the SUV was stopped. He quickly unfastened his shoulder belt and opened the door. "Just pick me up in a few minutes." He slammed the door shut and began to walk toward the mall.

Jacob had only gone a few steps when the sounds behind brought him to a halt. The first was the sound of a car door slamming. This was followed quickly by the blaring of many car horns. He turned around and his mouth dropped open at the sight of Agent Young walking toward him.

"You, you can't do that," he stammered, pointing to the SUV abandoned in the middle of the aisle.

"Yes, I can. The car will be impounded but I can have someone from the Bureau retrieve it later. When you are ready to leave I will contact the Bureau and have them send a car for us."

Jacob stared at her for a few minutes, noting her bland expression. _'Damn, she's not going to back down.'_ He gave a huff of irritation and walked back to the car. Rachel allowed herself a small smirk behind his back.

Buckling the belt, Jacob surreptitiously observed Agent Young. _'She is a stubborn one. She really was prepared to leave the car sitting in the middle of the lot.'_ Jacob tucked this bit of knowledge away for further study. Over the past two weeks he had been patiently trying to discover the limits of this latest one. So far she had displayed nothing but polite indifference, no matter what he had requested she do. _'Crap, even __**I**__ got bored grocery shopping.'_

Jacob knew Frank and Ty McGruder thought he had some kind of death wish. What they didn't understand was that it wasn't the detail per se he resented; it was the agents they assigned to him. That he found it hard to concentrate on the work when he was constantly being badgered and ordered about by people who didn't have the faintest idea what his work entailed.

It wasn't merely they didn't understand the work. They had no curiosity about the work, about what he did. While it was true they didn't have to know what he did in order to do their job, Jacob couldn't believe they had never shown _any_ interest in learning. He would have thought that knowing _why_ he was doing something would help them understand why it had to be done. They never asked questions and would barely listen as he tried to explain the science behind his actions.

It also didn't help that those agents didn't bother to conceal the contempt they felt for him. That he was some head-in-the-clouds academic who didn't know his ass from a hole in the ground. They all seemed to forget that before the damn bombing he had operated perfectly fine on his own. So he spent his spare time trying to find ways to get rid of the latest unsatisfactory guard dog.

His reverie was interrupted by a grunt of approval from Agent Young. She had found a parking spot and eased the SUV into it. They walked toward the mall without speaking.

Once inside Jacob headed straight toward an educational toy store. Rachel silently snorted with derision as she followed Hood inside. _'It figures, he's going to a nerd store to buy a present for his nephew. I wonder if the kid's as bad as his uncle.'_ True to his word, Hood had known exactly what he wanted. He was at the counter paying for his selection in moments. While she waited for him to conclude his purchase, almost against her will, Rachel found she was fascinated by some of the toys.

Jacob thanked the clerk for her assistance and turned to leave with satisfaction. He knew Owen would enjoy the chemistry set. He blinked in surprise at the sight of Agent Young. She was playing with one of the wooden puzzles on display and he could swear that was a genuine smile on her face.

"Uh, I'm ready to leave now." Jacob blinked in surprise again, this time at how quickly Agent Young resumed her cool, bland expression. Before he could decide if he wanted to comment on her playing with the puzzles, her phone rang.

"Young here." She glanced at Hood. "It's for you." Rachel handed over her phone and watched Hood intently. She could tell from his expression that he was puzzled by the call.

"You're sure? It doesn't sound like my kind of thing." He shrugged. "Ok, if you say so." Jacob ended the call and stared into space a thoughtful look on his face.

Rachel mouth twisted in irritation. _'Christ, he's zoning out on me again.'_ Rather than wait for Hood to come back to earth, Rachel grabbed his hand to retrieve her cell phone. As she hoped, this broke Hood's trance.

"What's going on? Who was that on the phone? "

"Um, the Behavioural Analysis Unit wants me to consult on a case." Jacob shook his head. "I don't know why, but Frank's emailing you the logistics. We need to get going. Now."

Rachel's cell phone was buzzing in her hand, signalling an incoming email. Her eyes widened when she saw that the "Frank" sending the message was Frank Fuller. _'Shit, talk about top of the food chain.'_ She hadn't realized that Hood reported right to the Director. Keeping one eye on Hood as they made their way back to the SUV Rachel scanned the message.

"It looks like we're headed to upstate New York. Seats are being held for us on a flight to Buffalo, leaves in about two hours" She looked at Hood skeptically. "Can you be ready to leave that quickly?"

"Of course," Jacob replied. "My lab kit is already stocked and it won't take me long to throw some clothes in a bag." He tilted his head. "The real question is how long will it take us to get to your place to pick up your things?"

Jacob brightened at the thought of their having to stop by Agent Young's apartment. He knew there was no way she would allow him to sit unaccompanied in the SUV. She would have to bring him inside. She was so reserved, almost secretive, about her personal details. This would give him an opportunity to snoop a bit. With luck, there might even be some mail lying out; it had been two weeks and he still didn't know her first name.

Rachel dashed his hopes. "I have a go-bag in the car. We can head for the airport as soon as we pick up your stuff. Luckily, our flight is leaving out of National, so we won't have to back-track."

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Shortly after their flight took off, Rachel relaxed for the first time that day. They were safely cocooned at 25,000 feet, so she didn't have to worry, or even think, about Hood until it was time to land. About an hour into the flight they hit major turbulence. The plane bounced around enough to make even Rachel feel a little sick to her stomach. She glanced over to see how Hood was handling the bumpy flight and gaped in surprise. He had a look of intense concentration on his face as he read the files he had been sent; he was oblivious to what was going on around him.

'_Jeez, talk about the ability to focus.'_ Rachel thought with a shake of her head. She wondered idly if this was what the other agents meant when they complained that Hood never listened to them. She felt a flicker of impatience with her predecessors. _'Surely it occurred to them that maybe they had to hit him upside the head to get his attention.'_ Her lips curved up slightly at the thought of whacking Hood.

Despite her intention to ignore Hood until landing, Rachel kept sneaking glances at her seatmate. He was clearly disturbed by what he was reading. The other agents had been vague as to what kind of things Hood investigated; "crimes using science" was the closest she got to an explanation. She wondered what it was about the case he was about to embark on that had Hood so baffled. She was about to break her self-imposed vow to do her job without showing any interest in him or his work when the man spoke.

"This is ridiculous," Jacob grumbled. "There's absolutely nothing here for me to work on, I don't know what those idiots were thinking, calling me in for a consult."

"I hardly think," Rachel responded coolly, "that anyone in the BAU qualifies as idiots. That's one of the most difficult units to win an assignment to. If they called for a consult, I'm sure they had their reasons."

Jacob was pulled up short by her rebuke. _'Damn, she doesn't let anything go.'_ The other agents would have just ignored him and his jibs at their capabilities. Not one of them would have challenged him like that.

"Maybe," he conceded. "But I've gone over the files they sent me and I can't find anything that would call for my expertise. I'm a scientist, not a detective, so by definition it's idiotic to believe that I can contribute anything to the case."

"Maybe there's something that's not in the files, something confidential that they didn't feel comfortable putting on paper just yet." _'Maybe you shouldn't make so many goddamned assumptions about the people who called you in.'_

Jacob considered her words carefully. She had a valid point. Despite the problems he had with his various handlers, he had a healthy respect for the intelligence and dedication of the agents with whom he had come into contact on his cases. If this BAU person thought he could help, he should reserve judgement until he was on the scene.

"You're right. I should know better than to make unwarranted assumptions; that's the antithesis of the scientific method."

Rachel looked at Hood closely. He wasn't being sarcastic, he was dead serious. She filed this nugget of information away for later consideration. She had been warned that Hood was arrogant but he had not only accepted her rebuke but he had also considered and acknowledged her point of view.

Rachel could constrain her curiosity no longer. No matter what was waiting for them in Buffalo it had to be better, more exciting, than her duties the last two weeks. "So, what exactly is your area of expertise?"

"Didn't Ty explain it to you?"

"Not really," Rachel shrugged. "I was told I was being assigned to the protection detail for the Special Science Advisor and given background on the threats to your life."

"My PhD is in physics, but I've got an extensive background in chemistry and biotechnology. My field is biophysics and I did some post-doc work in quantum mechanics, but generally I've worked on issues dealing with quantum biology."

Jacob smiled at the blank look on Agent Young's face. "To put it simply, I get called in when people start using science to hurt rather than help." A look of irritation crossed his face. "Which is why I can't understand why anyone would think I could be of help on a simple murder."

Rachel tore her attention from trying to remember all of the words Hood had used to describe his background. She was going to have to do some serious research; she didn't have the faintest idea what he was talking about. She focused on his last sentence; that at least she understood.

"It's hardly a simple murder if the BAU is involved." She frowned, "They only get called in on cases of serial murders."

"I don't care how many bodies there are," Jacob said. "Murder is outside of my bailiwick. Unless," he hastily added, "you're right and I don't have all the facts yet. Although," he continued thoughtfully, "I have a hard time imagining what that might be."

"Maybe the unsub is using some sciencey method to kill the victims?" Rachel offered.

"Sciencey?" Jacob's lips twitched and he couldn't keep a hint of laughter out of his voice. "And what is heaven's name is an unsub?"

Rachel glared at Hood with narrowed eyes. _'Is this son of a bitch laughing at me?'_ "Yes, sciencey, maybe the unsub is using something science based to kill his vics." And unsub is BAU terminology, it means unknown subject."

"Well, at least that would make sense," Jacob admitted. "But according to these files, the cause of death is clear." He shifted his laptop so that Agent Young could see the screen. "See, all of the, uh, vics, were strangled."

Rachel leaned back slightly to bring the screen into focus. She's be damned if she'd let Hood know that she needed reading glasses. After that scene in the Director's office she wasn't about to let him discover that she had any weaknesses. "Maybe cause of death isn't so clear. Maybe that's the reason why the BAU called you in."

Before Jacob could reply the announcement was made that the plane would be landing shortly and Agent Young reverted to her cool indifference.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel shivered slightly as they parked in front of Buffalo General Hospital. She wasn't looking forward to the visit to the morgue. She wasn't squeamish about dead bodies. She's seen more than her fair share in Afghanistan but that didn't mean she liked watching them get cut up.

Jacob looked around in confusion. "Why are we coming here? According to the files, the Buffalo police are in charge of this investigation. Why aren't we going to the police headquarters?"

He had been disappointed when Agent Young had gone back to her usual uncommunicative state. The exchange on the plane had been their longest sustained conversation since they met. He had been pleased when she, unlike the others, had shown at least a rudimentary interest in the work he did. He had hoped that some of her resentment at being assigned to him had begun to fade. But the trip into the city had been accomplished in almost total silence. She hadn't even bothered, as a courtesy, to let him know what his destination was. That kind of power play, putting him in the position where he had to beg for simple information, was one of the things he hated about his protection detail.

"This is where the Director told me to bring you. We're scheduled to meet the BAU agent and the local LEO here at the morgue," Rachel answered. She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "I assumed you knew, that the bodies had been brought here for autopsy, wasn't that in your files?"

"No, Frank only sent me the preliminary autopsy reports and the notes from the various detectives." Jacob felt somewhat better. She hadn't deliberately kept their destination from him; maybe she was shaping up to be a little better than her predecessors.

The two quickly made their way to the hospital morgue. They pulled up short when they saw that the door was blocked by two men engaged in an argument. The one with his back to them was stocky, with a shock of red hair. Jacob easily identified him as the BAU agent. He was wearing the unofficial FBI uniform of a dark suit.

The other man was middle-aged, slightly overweight, and dressed in a wrinkled brown suit. He was waving his hands in the air and was clearly annoyed by his companion. Jacob loudly cleared his throat and the two men turned toward them. To Jacob's surprise, the red-head broke into a broad grin.

"Rachel, Rachel Young, damn, it's good to see you girl." He advanced on them and swept her into a bear hug.

Jacob's eyes widened and he waited to see what the chilly Agent Young would do to this presumptuous young man. He was amazed when she merely extricated herself from the hug with a laugh.

"It's good to see you again Gilly."

Gilchrist looked at her inquiringly. "But what are you doing here? Last I heard you were in Counter-terrorism?"

Jacob wasn't surprised to see Agent Young stiffen.

"Temporary assignment," she said shortly. She turned to Hood. "Dr. Hood, this is Special Agent Riley Gilchrist. Gilly, this is Dr. Jacob Hood, the Special Science Advisor. You called him for a consult?"

"Agent Gilchrist," Jacob nodded and held out his hand. "I'm not sure what help I can be, I'm not really knowledgeable about serial murderers or murderers of any kind."

"That's what I tried telling this kid," exclaimed the older man. He held out his hand to Jacob, "I'm Detective Herb Coffey of the Buffalo PD. Like I said, we don't need you or any other FBI types on this investigation."

Jacob noted that the two agents locked gazes behind the older man's back and rolled their eyes. "Oh? And why is that?"

"Well, for one thing, there's nothing to do with science so I can't see why you had to be called in." Coffey glared at Gilchrist. "And as for the BAU, I don't see where they have jurisdiction either. Yeah, this may be serial killer but there's no evidence that he's operated anywhere but here in Buffalo."

Gilchrist blew out his breath in exasperation. "I keep telling you, this isn't a serial killer. And I do have jurisdiction, your second body was found on federal property."

Coffey gave a snort. "Federal property my ass. It was in a parking lot off of Franklin, in the middle of the city."

Gilchrist looked at the ceiling, visibly trying to control his temper. "The parking lot of the Teddy Roosevelt Inaugural Site which is a federal property. So yeah, that makes that body the business of the FBI. And he's the reason why I called in Dr. Hood." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the doctor who had been quietly standing in the corner.

"Dr. Hood, this is Dr. Ted Ondracek, head of pathology here at Buffalo General. He's found something, well, unusual."

Dr. Ondracek came forward. "I'm hope you're not here on a wild goose chase Dr. Hood. What I found isn't really a medical anomaly, but Agent Gilchrist here …."

"Exactly," broke in Coffey. "There isn't anything for you here. By rights this is my case and I don't need any FBI doctor butting in."

"Dr. Ondracek, if you could please tell Dr. Hood what you found." Gilchrist ground out.

The man shrugged. "I didn't find it exactly." He turned to Jacob. "What you have to understand is that this is a teaching hospital, we're part of the University of Buffalo's medical school. Normally, these two bodies wouldn't have come to me for autopsy.

But the city recently suffered from a severe spell of cold weather resulting in the deaths of quite a few homeless people. Since the city morgue was backed up, the police requested that we take over these two cases."

He shot a dirty look at Coffey. "It seems there was a great deal of panic over the thought that we had a serial killer operating in the city. Well," he continued, "the autopsies of both bodies were fairly straightforward, both victims had been strangled."

He led Jacob over to the autopsy table where two bodies were laid out. "As you can see the injuries are consistent with manual strangulation."

"Hmm," Jacob murmured as studied the bodies. "Yes, I can see that this is almost a classic case." He frowned suddenly, "but what are those red flecks in the ligature marks on their necks?"

"Those," Coffey put in triumphantly, "are what make this the work of a serial killer. Those red flecks are parts of the ribbon tied around their necks." He grinned at the look on Jacob's face. "What? You thought I was making it up about a serial killer? This isn't just three white, middle-aged women getting themselves strangled."

He shot a dirty look at Gilchrist, "Even thought that would be enough. But after strangling them, the perp ties a big bow around their necks with red ribbon."

"Ah, yes, I can see your point." Jacob replied. He turned to Ondracek. "So what is the anomaly you found?"

Ondracek scrubbed at his face. "Like I said, this is a teaching hospital. Since we couldn't release the bodies, I thought I'd use them for an exercise for my pathology students." He noted Jacob's look of distaste. "Only to run some tests and with the permission of the next of kin."

He took a deep breath. "I was trying to get across the point that tox screens don't catch everything. How you can't test for everything, so eventually, something would get missed. I told them to go to town, to test for everything they could think of. Apparently, one of my students is a fan of old fashioned murder mysteries. He decided to test for plant poisons. And damned if he didn't find traces on coniine in the samples from one of the bodies."

"Coniine, you're sure?" Jacob asked.

"Re-ran the test myself," Ondracek confirmed. "When it came back the same, I decided to test the other victim. They both had been poisoned with coniine." He looked at Jacob and his face showed his puzzlement. "The concentrations were pretty high, I would estimate, given what I found, that both of these women were within minutes of death when they were strangled."

Coffey was impatient. "So what? Serial killers are all nuts, so he poisoned and strangled his vics. What's the big deal?"

"The big deal," retorted Gilchrist, "is that isn't how serial killers operate." He turned to Jacob, "and that's why I called for you Dr. Hood. I have the feeling that this case hinges on that coniine and I wanted your opinion on that."

Jacob looked at him doubtfully. "I don't see what you expect me to do. I'm not an expert on poisons."

Before Gilchrist could answer, a cell phone rang. "That's me," announced Coffey. He mumbled into his phone briefly before pocketing it. "Got to go, got a lead that I need to follow-up." The others watched him leave without regret.

"Look," Gilchrist urged Dr. Hood. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee, let me tell you about what's bothering me about this case."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jacob soon found himself in the hospital cafeteria sandwiched between the two agents. Gilchrist was determined to convince him that something out of the ordinary, something that merited the attention of the Special Science Advisor, was going on in Buffalo.

"I don't care what Coffey says," Gilchrist said. "This isn't the work of a serial killer, it doesn't fit the methodology. Serial killers may be nuts, like he said, but they run to type and these three murders don't fit the type."

"I dunno, Gilly," Rachel said. "Just 'cause you don't like Coffey doesn't mean he isn't right. Three women strangled and left with bows around their necks? That sounds like the mark of a serial killer to me."

Gilchrist looked at her grimly. "Maybe, but you need to know those women, none of them, were raped. They weren't sexually assaulted in any way, shape, or form."

Jacob nodded in understanding. "Yes, that is telling." Rachel looked at him skeptically.

"Really," he insisted. "Agent Gilchrist is correct. Serial killers are generally acting out of some kind of, of, well, of some kind of sexual impulse. One of the hallmarks of their crimes is that they have, uh, a sexual component to them. The fact that these women haven't been, uh, assaulted is a strong indication that this isn't the work of a serial killer."

Rachel mentally rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe that Hood was stumbling over the word sex. _'He can look at dead people without batting an eye but he can't say the word sex without blushing?'_

"But that's not true," Rachel objected. "What about those "angel of death" killers you read about? The ones who go around killing old people, sick people. They're not killing because of sex."

"Depends on what you mean by sex, Rachel," Gilchrist replied. "Those types of killers, that's how they get off, killing people. They pick the old and sick to cover up the murders." He held up his hand, forestalling her protest. "And don't tell me about the ones who act like hero's, trying to pull the dying person back from the brink, those are a distinct minority, they like the adrenaline rush."

His face turned grim. "Trust me, I've been tracking serial killers for over a year and this one just doesn't fit any of the profiles."

Jacob shrugged. "So it's not a serial killer. You've got a mass murderer instead. What makes that something for me?"

"The coniine. My gut tells me that it must be important. This guy is strangling women who are about to die from coniine poisoning. Why? To cover up the real cause of death? What is going on here?"

Jacob started at the young man, considering. The chances of getting a flight home tonight were slim. He had to pass the time somehow; he might as well spend it in a lab running a few tests on this coniine. His lips twitched, he didn't think Agent Young would agree to spending the afternoon catching a movie.

"Fine," he said abruptly. "If you can find me some lab space and Dr. Ondracek is willing to let me have access to tissue samples, I'll run some tests for you."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel was rapidly revising her opinion about being in the field with Hood. So far, her afternoon had been as boring as when she was stuck with him in DC. For the last hour he had been fiddling around with tissue samples and microscopes. Gilly had sat with her for a while giving them a chance to catch up before he had to go make some phone calls. Unused to inactivity, she was rapidly becoming impatient.

To relive the boredom Rachel began pacing the lab. One of her circuits took her within Hood's orbit. "Could you hand me that sample please."

She pulled up short. There were several slides on the table at her side. "Uh, which one do you need?"

"The one marked spleen A."

Rachel handed over the tissue sample. Despite her desire to remain aloof from Hood's work, she couldn't help but ask a question. "Why is it marked with an A?"

Jacob looked up, a crease of annoyance on his face at the interruption. His "What?" came out sharper than he intended.

"Nothing." Rachel began to retreat to the other side of the lab.

Jacob straightened, stretching out his back. He hadn't realized he had been bent over the microscope for so long. In reality, he should have thanked Agent Young for the interruption, he needed a break.

"No, I'm sorry, what was your question?"

She was tempted to deny any desire for information, but her curiosity overcame her. "I was wondering why the sample was marked with an A."

"Oh, that. I asked Dr. Ondracek to mark the samples A and B so that I could run the tests blind."

Jacob elaborated at Agent Young's look of confusion. "We know that Dr. Ondracek found coniine in both bodies. But he only looked in the first body after it was discovered in the second. Now, I'm not disparaging his work, but there is a chance that the results of his second test were contaminated by his first. So what I'm doing is taking completely fresh samples from both bodies and re-running all of the tests making sure that there's no cross-contamination."

Rachel nodded in understanding. "You're re-establishing the chain of evidence. Making sure that the results will hold up under examination." She cocked her head. "But why the A and B?"

"As I said, I want the tests to be completely blind. I don't want to be influenced, even unconsciously, by what Dr. Ondracek found."

Rachel pursed her lips. That made sense. She had one more question. "How come you're only testing samples from their spleens?"

Jacob regarded her thoughtfully. _'Well, this one seems to have a streak of curiosity.'_ "Do you have a sponge by your kitchen sink?"

Rachel looked at him blankly at this non sequitur. "A sponge?" She thought hard. It had been awhile since she had spent any time in her kitchen, she was a reluctant cook, but she could swear that yeah, she did have sponge on the edge of her kitchen sink. "Uh, yeah, why?"

"Well you have to understand that your spleen is like a sponge. It absorbs the blood that passes through it much like a sponge absorbs water. It's also the job of your spleen/sponge to clean; the spleen filters out impurities in the blood. But the debris builds up in your spleen, just as it does in your sponge. It's filled with impurities. So if you're looking for something that passed through someone's body the spleen is a pretty good place to go looking."

Rachel nodded, screwing up her nose. _'Eww, have to remember to throw that sponge out.'_ "So did looking at their spleens tell you anything?"

Jacob frowned. "I'm not sure. It depends on the results from this next test. But I'm beginning to think that your friend might be on to something, that the coniine is significant."

Jacob turned back to his microscope leaving Rachel to try to figure out what he meant. She was relieved when, a short time later Gilchrist came back to the lab, a pleased expression on his face.

"Hey Gilly, what's up?"

Gilchrist returned her smile. "Good news, that's what." He turned to Jacob. "I've been on the phone to Coffey's superiors. He's been putting roadblocks in the way of my seeing any of the evidence in the first murder. But I've got authorization for you to examine the samples from that body."

Jacob frowned. "Why are only samples available? Surely in a case like this they would have held on to the body?"

"That's another reason why I don't think this is a serial killer," Gilchrist said. "The timing. Generally serial killers speed up as their killing spree goes on. The first body was found a month before the second. They released the body to the family right after the autopsy since they didn't suspect anything out of the ordinary. Yeah, the bow thing was kinky, but not something to get excited about until the second body showed up. The gap between bodies one and two is expected. Then two and three were practically on top of each other. But we haven't had another body since number three. If this were a serial killer, we'd have had four and maybe even five by now."

He faced Jacob seriously. "What I think what we have here is three murders that are linked and the murderer wants us to think it's a serial killer to disguise the real motive. And I think this coniine is the key."

"You may be right." Jacob told him. "I duplicated Dr. Ondracek' s tests and there is quite a bit on coniine in both bodies. Neither woman would have been able to survive even if they had sought medical attention when their symptoms began to manifest themselves. If his only concern was that these women die, then strangulation was unnecessary. And you were right about the coniine. It is important."

"I knew it," crowed Gilchrist. "I knew it had to be the key. What's unusual about it?"

"It's not unusual, not at all." Jacob began.

Gilchrist's face fell. "Shit, I was hoping that you'd be able to tell me that it was some kind of rare type that could only be found in a small area of the country."

"You've been watching too much TV," Jacob said reprovingly. "You were on the right track, but it's not that esoteric. What you have to understand is that there are two kinds of coniine, natural and synthetic."

He sighed at the look of confusion on the faces of both agents. _'Damn it, don't any of these kids take science anymore? I'm gonna have to talk to Frank about improving their basic training.'_ "If you want to make coniine you have two avenues to take. Either you find yourself some hemlock and boil it down or you make the compound out of its constituent chemical parts."

He waved a hand at the lab bench. "And the coniine that was used on those women was definitely synthetic. There were none of the impurities you would expect to find in coniine made from hemlock."

"Hemlock," Rachel asked doubtfully. "You mean like Socrates?"

Jacob's lips twitched. _'Well at least she knows her history.'_ Exactly, hemlock is one of the most common botanical poisons; it was used by the ancient Greeks as an execution method." His face hardened. "It's a particularly nasty way to kill someone though, the victim is gradually paralyzed, they're fully conscious of what is happening to them until they die."

Gilchrist continued to look puzzled. "I don't get it. If the coniine isn't that rare, why strangle the women to cover up the fact that you used it? Hell, why use it at all, why not just strangle them?"

"Maybe," Rachel offered, "the unsub wanted to immobilize the victims, make it easier to strangle them."

"Perhaps. But just because the coniine isn't rare doesn't mean that it isn't important." Jacob explained patiently. "Anyone could make natural coniine, it's not that hard. But the synthetic version?" He shook his head. "It isn't that easy to get your hands on synthetic coniine and you'd have to be a fairly skilled chemist to make it yourself."

"So you're telling me that my unsub has to have access to a lab?"

"Not necessarily. The ingredients to synthetic coniine can be purchased at any chemical supply store." Jacob shrugged. "I could whip some up in my kitchen if I wanted to."

Gilchrist swore in frustration. "I thought you said that it wasn't easy to get ahold of the synthetic? Now you're saying anyone can make it if they have the right ingredients?"

"That's not what you asked me." Jacob replied clearly irritated. "I was merely pointing out that you don't need a lab to manufacture coniine _if_ you know your chemistry." He glared at Gilchrist, "and I know my chemistry."

Jacob shook his head, exasperated. "Look, let me start over. Your killer, your, your, unsub has got to fall into one of two categories, maybe both. Either he has access to a lab where there may be quantities of coniine available for him to steal. Or he is a skilled chemist with or without access to a lab."

A thoughtful look came over Jacob's face. "Although if I had to make a guess, I'd say that this person has to be a skilled chemist."

"Why?"

"A single lab isn't going to have sufficient quantities of coniine available that a theft would go unnoticed for this long. I mean, this stuff isn't in general use. If a lab had some available, and not all labs would have it around, they'd track it pretty carefully. A theft of the quantity needed to kill these women would have been hard to cover up."

"Maybe my unsub has access to several labs." Gilchrist objected.

Jacob shook his head. "No, that's unlikely. Like I said, this stuff isn't something that's in common use. Very few labs would have any need to keep it around. Coniine has very limited uses. No, I think you'll find that your unsub has a strong background in chemistry."

"Or he has an accomplice who does." Gilchrist added.

Jacob nodded acknowledging this point. "I can see why the killer would want to conceal the presence of the coniine. After all, it limits your suspect pool. What I can't understand, is why the bows? Why try to make the police think this was the work of a serial killer?"

"To shift the focus of the police," Rachel blurted out.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Gilchrist. "Anyone who's read a serial killer book or saw a movie knows that serial killers pick their victims by some weird criteria that only mean something to them. You focus on the method, the killer. You don't look at the victims as closely, not like you would in a normal murder investigation."

"I'll have to take your word for that." Jacob said. "Like I said, I don't know anything about murders or murderers. Now, you said you got me access to the tissue samples of the first victim. Could you arrange for them to be sent here for me to test? I want to check them for synthetic coniine."

"Ahh, it's not that easy." Gilchrist replied. "I talked to Coffey's lieutenant; got him to order Coffey to cooperate, give us access to the evidence. But they won't let the physical evidence out of their control. You're gonna have to go over there to their lab."

He paused, thinking. "Actually, that might be best. I'd like you to explain about the coniine to the lieutenant. It'll sound better coming straight from you."


	2. Chapter 2

Coffey's lieutenant proved to be an older man who welcomed the assistance of the FBI.

"I don't give a damn about who get the credit for cracking these murders," he declared. "The fact is you people have resources we don't, so we're glad of the help." He glared at Coffey. "I've instructed Detective Coffey to give you all assistance possible."

Coffey stared resentfully at his superior's retreating back. "Yeah, easy for him to say," he groused. "He's already got it made, a lieutenant."

Gilchrist sighed. "Look, no one's trying to grab any credit from you. If these turn out to be simple murders like I think they are the Bureau will be happy to cede jurisdiction on the second murder to you."

Coffey stood thinking for a few moments, then with a grunt decided that he might as well take the feds at their word. He was stuck with them so he might as well get some use out of them. And that included having their fancy doctor look at the tissue samples from the first vic.

It didn't take Jacob long to confirm that the first victim had the synthetic coniine in her system also. Coffey, reassured that he would be receiving the lion's share of the credit for solving these murders, was more than happy to share information with them.

Now that he knew that there was a clear abuse of science in this case, Jacob had been eager to take part in the investigation. He was pleased when both Gilchrist and Coffey asked him to review the files with them. For their part, they felt if he was correct, that the killer had a scientific background, he might catch things they would miss. The four of them sat around Coffey's desk, reviewing files and eating Chinese take-out.

They had been working for quite some time when Rachel realized she needed to pee. Catching Gilchrist's eye she made a face and flicked her eyes in Hood's direction. Smiling, Gilchrist nodded, he understood and would honor her request to watch over Hood. Murmuring her excuses, Rachel headed down the hall toward the bathrooms. Coffey watched her walk away appreciatively.

"So, what's the deal with you and blondie?" Coffey asked Jacob.

Jacob looked at him, shocked. "I beg your pardon?"

"You and blondie, she your personal, uh, assistant, if you know what I mean," he replied with a wink.

"My relationship with _Agent_ Young," Jacob emphasized her title, "is strictly professional."

Coffey brightened. "Then you don't mind if I take a shot at her?" Taking Jacob's stunned silence for consent he left to ambush Rachel before she returned to the bullpen area leaving Jacob and Gilchrist dumbfounded.

Gilchrist recovered first. "Man, he's gonna get told off good and proper." At Jacob's look of inquiry, he elaborated. "Rachel didn't need the Bureau to tell her you don't mix business and pleasure. I've known her since Quantico; she made it clear even back then that was how she operated." He snorted. "Shit, even if she didn't feel that way, that fool wouldn't stand a chance. He most definitely isn't her type."

Jacob's eyes widened. "Ah, you mean she's, ah, um."

Gilchrist looked at him blankly for a few seconds then his face lit up with amusement. "No, she's not ah, um." He shook his head at Jacob. "Ok, yeah, I know she's your handler and all, but damn, you _have_ taken a good look at her, haven't you?"

"If you're referring to the fact that Agent Young is rather attractive, yes, I have noticed that."

"Rather attractive? Shit, she's gorgeous. And women who look like that," Gilchrist said, "don't bother with middle-aged, broken down cops like Coffey."

They were interrupted by the return of Rachel and Coffey. Jacob noted Coffey's face was redder than it had been and Agent Young had the blank look he had come to realize was her method of masking annoyance. He thought he should get her out of there before Coffey could antagonize her further.

Jacob hastily gathered up his notes. "I think I have everything I need here, if you'll excuse us, Agent Young and I will be leaving. I, uh, we'll be in touch tomorrow."

He hustled Agent Young out of the police station and into their rental car. The trip to their hotel was made in silence as each of the occupants was thinking about what just happened. Jacob kept glancing over at Agent Young, wondering if he should say anything, ask her about Coffey. On one hand, she was a grown woman, a good-looking woman to boot. He was sure this wasn't the first time she had had to handle unwanted attention. And judging by her treatment of him over the last two weeks, Jacob figured she was probably an expert at putting a man in his place.

On the other hand, she wouldn't have been put in the position of having to deal with Coffey if it hadn't been for him. Jacob squirmed in his seat. As his bodyguard/handler it was her job to deal with all sorts of unpleasant things. The difference, however, was that normally the unpleasant things were those that he didn't want to deal with himself. Then again, it would be patronizing of him to ask about the incident. After all, it wasn't as if he was her father or brother, someone with a right to comment on her personal issues. The thought, _'Hell, you're not even friends,'_ popped into his mind. No, she was a trained federal agent, capable of handling herself in any situation. It would be better not to say anything about Coffey making a pass at her.

Rachel glanced over at Hood with amusement. She could tell, from the way he was squirming in his seat, jiggling his leg up and down, he was uncomfortable. She knew it wasn't the case; it was clear it had finally caught his interest. By the way he hurried them out of the police station she figured it had to do with the pass that jerk made. Truth be told, she had been more amused than offended. Coffey had to be at least 40 and by Bureau standards he was so out of shape it was laughable. Her only annoyance stemmed from the fact she had to deal with that type of crap at all. That Coffey had thought so little of her professionalism, to think she would even consider hooking up with a total stranger in the middle of an investigation.

She snuck another glance at Hood. She hoped he wasn't about to get all touchy-feely on her, asking if she was ok, how she _felt _about what happened. Bad enough when the Bureau shrinks expected you to share your feeling; she's be damned if she'd put up with that shit from her assignment.

"Umm, Agent Young?" Jacob began tentatively.

Rachel sighed inwardly. _'Damn it, I was afraid of this.'_ "What?" She tried to inject as much coldness into that single word as she could in hopes of discouraging Hood.

"The Chinese food, it wasn't very appetizing and I was concentrating on my notes so I didn't eat much," Jacob explained. "Could we stop off for something to eat?"

'_Shit, just when I think I've got him figured.'_ "No, that's impossible."

"Oh I think it's very possible," Jacob said. "You may be my handler, but that doesn't mean you get to call the shots around here. If I want to stop and get something to eat, that's just what we're going to do."

"Not in this case," Rachel replied. "I didn't have the chance to research the city before we got here. For all I know this is a high crime area." She looked over at Hood. "When it comes to your safety, yes I _do_ get the call the shots. And I say we're not stopping until we get to the hotel. If they can't provide you with food, I'll get you some take-out."

Jacob sat back with a sigh. She was right of course. His handlers did have the authority to refuse to accommodate him if, in their judgment, to do so would compromise his safety. Looking out the window of the SUV Jacob had to admit, grudging, that she had a point. The streets were deserted and the storefronts were not only dark, but seemed to be covered with metal bars.

For the rest of the short trip, the silence was broken only by the soft voice of the GPS issuing directions. Rachel was surprised to realize that rather than a budget chain, they had been booked into one of the best hotels in Buffalo. She looked around the luxurious lobby as Hood checked them in. _'Well, one good thing about this detail, the quarters are a lot better than they were in Kabul.'_ She returned her attention to Hood just in time to catch his question.

"I've arranged to have some food delivered to my room, would you care for anything?"

"No, that's ok." Rachel took the small folder that held her room key from Hood's hand. With a raised eyebrow and an outstretched hand she indicated that Hood should hand over his key also. Rachel frowned as she examined the folders.

"No, this is unacceptable. My room, it should be either across or next to yours, not down the hall." She turned to ask the desk clerk to see if other rooms were available when Hood stopped her.

"It is perfectly acceptable." He dug into his pants pocket and came up with a small square of plastic. "I have my panic button. In the unlikely chance I am threatened tonight you are close enough to respond quickly." He crossed his arms and regarded her coolly. "It's bad enough I have to have someone like you attached to me every waking hour. I'd prefer not to feel like I'm under surveillance. The room assignments are non-negotiable."

Rachel stared at Hood for a few moments, thinking. Technically speaking, Hood was correct. Protocol didn't actually dictate that her room be adjacent to his, only that she be nearby. The fact she was down the hall satisfied that requirement. She was willing to bet Hood knew to a millimeter just how far away from his room he could insist she be.

She weighed her options. Short of causing a scene in the lobby, there really was nothing Hood could do if she requested the clerk to change her room. It might piss him off, but she didn't care about that. While the situation wasn't what she would have liked, her room assignment _was_ within the parameters dictated for a bodyguard. Rachel decided to let the matter slide. She was quickly learning that with Hood she would have to pick her battles.

"Fine." Without another word she led him to the elevators.

Jacob rolled his eyes but refrained from complaining when Agent Young insisted he let her enter his room first, and with her weapon drawn, check the closets and bathroom for intruders. He briefly considered asking if she wanted to check under the bed but thought better of it. He was beginning to shrug off his jacket when he realized she wasn't leaving.

"Is there a problem?"

"You ordered room service. I have to wait until it's delivered."

"Why? It's perfectly safe. We're checked in here under false names, there's no way they know who I am."

Rachel lifted an eyebrow. "Are you insane?"

Jacob eyes widened, not so much at the question, but at the tone of voice in which it was asked. As if she were asking a commonplace question, such as if he took sugar in his coffee. He wondered where she was going with this.

"Uh, no, why?"

"Well, they say one definition of insanity it doing the same thing you've done before and expecting a different result." She narrowed her eyes, "and since I know damned well you've had room service before that means you know exactly what the protocol is and why I have to stay."

As they stood glaring at each other there was knock on the door and a voice announced "Room service."

Rachel drew her weapon and looked out the peephole on the door. She grunted in approval at the sight of a young man in a white jacket with a room service cart. Holstering her weapon, she opened the door to admit him; her hand hovering over the grip of her Glock.

The young man's eyes widened at the sight of the armed woman. He wheeled the cart in and presented the bill to Jacob. Muttering his thanks, he escaped as quickly as possible. Jacob's lips twitched into a half smile as he watched Agent Young inspect the contents of the cart.

"Looking for a bomb?"

Rachel ignored the sarcasm. "Yes." Satisfied that the cart didn't contain anything it shouldn't she turned to leave. "And don't forget to throw the bolt and latch the chain after I leave."

Nodding his head Jacob followed her. "Goodnight….Rachel."

With her hand on the door, she stopped and stiffened. Slowly, she turned to face him. "I would prefer you address me either as Agent Young or Young."

Jacob tilted his head slightly to the side and bit his lip. "Umm, no. I think I'd prefer to call you Rachel."

Rachel stood looking at Hood deadpan for a few moments. Mentally she reviewed their confrontations that day. So far she was ahead in their battle of wits; she could afford to let him have this round.

She turned to leave. "Whatever, call me when you're ready for breakfast. Goodnight Hood."

"You know, if I'm going to call you Rachel, maybe you should call me Jacob."

Rachel turned and smiled. Mimicking his tone perfectly, she replied, "Umm, no. I think I'd prefer to call you Hood." She then shut the door firmly in his face.

Jacob smiled as he bolted and latched the door. _'I'll be damned. I do believe this one has a sense of humor.'_

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel idly watched Hood over the remains of their breakfast. She had been watching his emotions chase themselves over his face. She figured he must be the world's worse poker player. It was obvious that something was bothering him. She wondered what it was.

Jacob frowned at Rachel. He knew she was going to object to his proposed course of action but this time he would have to overrule her, even if it meant calling Frank. "It's obvious that my part in this affair should be tracing the coniine, identifying who involved with this case might have the capabilities to create it."

Rachel nodded. "So what's the problem?"

He took a deep breath. "I'm going to have to go over the area myself, look into who these women had contact with and where they went." He looked at Rachel belligerently, "And I don't want to hear any crap about how you can't guarantee my safety because you don't know the territory."

"That won't be a problem." Rachel replied calmly.

"But, but, last night, you said…"

"That was last night," she interrupted. "Since then I've downloaded maps of the city and had the Bureau email me crime statistics broken down by neighborhood. I have a fairly good handle now on the area."

That wasn't all she had done. She had spent a couple of hours with the night manager to get a local's perspective on the roads, the traffic patterns. She had quizzed him in particular about the areas where the bodies had been discovered. She had also woken the supervisory agent for the Buffalo field office that morning. In addition to checking in as a courtesy, she had confirmed the accuracy of the crime statistics and the general safety of the city. She also got an earful about Coffey.

Rachel was amused by the relief that flashed across Hood's face. _'Definitely, I need to get this guy in a poker game.'_ "So where do you want to go?"

"The problem," Jacob said irritably, "is that I don't have that much to work with. Coffey's notes about these murders, about the victims are worse than useless. I'm not even sure I can trust what's here considering he was convinced early on he was dealing with a serial killer.

I find it hard to believe Detective Coffey has any idea how to conduct an investigation. He seems to have decided he was tracking a serial killer and tried to work backward to prove his conclusion."

"What's wrong with that?"

Jacob tilted his head and considered her carefully. "It's a much more complicated process. Since you don't know what variables caused your result you have to take into account every possible variation that could affect your result. It seems from his notes he didn't take into account any variables."

At Rachel's confused look he elaborated. "It's as if he was trying to determine your parent's coloring by observing your appearance. He might get it right but he's just as likely to get it wrong. Most people know enough about genetics to know that both blonde hair and blue eyes are recessive genes." He paused to gauge her reaction. At her nod he continued. "Reasoning backward, most people would guess for your parents to produce a blue-eyed blonde, they must be blue-eyed blondes themselves."

Rachel considered interrupting to say most people would be correct, but Hood was continuing with his lecture.

"It would never occur to them there are eight other possibilities that are just as likely. Indeed, both of your parents could have brown eyes and hair. Coffey never considered there were other variables possible." He snorted. "He seems the type of man who, if he discovered your parents _were_ brown-eyed brunets, would ask if you were adopted."

"I think you're right. When I checked in with the local office this morning, the supervisory agent didn't have a lot of good things to say about Coffey. He said he was the kind of cop who would cut corners, maybe even shade facts."

Jacob nodded. "Yes, I can believe that after reading his notes. He seemed to ignore the victims entirely and focused solely on where the bodies were found. I think the first thing I want to do this morning is to find out about the victims. See if they had any people or places in common."

"What did you have in mind?"

"I need to find someone who knew each victim fairly well. Find out what a typical day for each of them would be like. If we follow in their footsteps, maybe we'll find the commonality that linked them."

Rachel was actually impressed by Hood's plan of action. He might claim to be a scientist not a detective but he was giving a damn good impression of one.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Although Jacob's idea had been a good one, it hadn't been easy to implement. They had been able to locate decent information on only one of the three victims. They had both been surprised when, arriving at the address in the files for the first victim, to find themselves at the vicarage of an Episcopal church.

It turned out the first victim had been the parish priest. Her administrative assistant was pleased that someone, anyone, was now taking the priest's murder seriously. She hadn't been impressed with Coffey and the things he had implied about her priest.

"You'd think, from his questions," the woman sniffed, "that Reverend Gault had asked to be murdered."

She had been happy to talk to them about the priest; she had been fond of the woman. The priest had been a major force in the city's efforts to reach out to the homeless and disadvantaged. The assistant not only was able to give them background on the woman's interests and habits, she provided them with copy of the priest's calendar for the month of her murder and a list of her closest associates.

They had much less luck with the other two victims. They finally tracked their husbands down at work. The husband of victim three, Barbara Clarke, was unhelpful. When asked about his wife's day, friends, he had shrugged. Beyond the fact she kept the house clean and made sure he had dinner on the table when he got home from work, he didn't have the faintest idea of how she spent her time. The best he could do was to suggest they call his daughter who lived out of town. He thought she and his wife talked on the phone a lot. Rachel had looked with the man with loathing, wishing they could hang his wife's murder on him.

The phone call to the daughter provided some information. It seemed her mother had retired early due to health issues. With nothing to keep her at home she had filled her day with volunteering. She wasn't sure of exactly where her mom volunteered, only that she worked with animals and elderly people. She was, however, able to give them the names of her mom's closest friends. Unfortunately, they weren't available and Jacob had been forced to leave messages asking them to get in touch with him.

The husband of the second victim, Gloria McNamara, was unavailable. He, like his wife, was a lawyer and he was tied up in depositions all day. His secretary promised to have Mr. McNamara call them as soon as he was free. Jacob looked at the woman in disbelief, not understanding how any man could not be immediately available to help clear up his wife's murder. The victim's office wasn't much more helpful. Her secretary didn't know much about her private life and according to her appointment book the woman barely left the city center during the work day.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jacob looked slightly disgruntled as they entered the hotel late in the afternoon. "Well, that was more than a little disappointing. I can't see where these women had any points of contact at all. I mean, honestly, we have a lawyer who seemed to be consumed by work, a do-gooder housewife, and a priest with a taste for involvement in social causes."

"It sounds like a bad joke," Rachel offered. At Hood's look of confusion she elaborated. "You know, a lawyer, a priest, and a housewife walked into a bar."

Jacob smiled briefly. "Actually, that sounds like a good idea." He walked into the small bar off of the lobby, leaving Rachel looking after him in surprise. By the time she caught up with him, he was at the bar ordering a beer.

"I really don't think you should be drinking while you're working a case."

"I hardly think one beer is going to incapacitate me," Jacob retorted. "Actually, at my weight, I'd have to drink five beers in an hour before I was legally drunk." He looked at her speculatively. "You're what? 120? You're more likely to be impaired by one beer than me."

Rachel glared and resisted the urge to correct his guess. She only weighed 118, thank you very much. "Fine. Have your beer."

He smiled inwardly at her capitulation. "Would you like anything, Rachel?" He grinned openly as she winced at his continued use of her name. To her credit, she hadn't complained since her protest the night before.

"A club soda would be fine" was the frosty reply. She went to find them a table as Jacob collected their drinks.

Rachel scoped out the bar and chose a corner table that limited access to Hood while still giving her a clear view of the door. She bit back a smile as Hood placed her drink in front of her. Her simple glass of club soda was liberally garnished with fruit and even had a little umbrella in it. She had to admit, it was kinda funny.

"We may need to turn all this over to your friend, Gilchrist and Coffey." Jacob slumped in his seat. "As far I can see these women never crossed paths. Their point of contact might have been months ago."

"Yeah, maybe, but why does that make it something for Gilly or the local LEOs?" Rachel asked as she fished a cherry out of her drink.

"It'll take time and resources to check out where these women have been," Jacob said. "To do it efficiently you need the kind of manpower the Bureau or the police have available."

"So what will you do?"

"Have something to eat. We should have stopped for lunch this afternoon."

Rachel's mouth dropped open. Like it was _her_ fault they hadn't had lunch. She had suggested on two separate occasions that they grab something and been over-ruled both times. Before she could form an acid retort Hood had summoned the waitress with a smile and a lift of his eyebrow. She contented herself with a snort of disgust.

They were almost finished with their meal when Hood's phone rang. Rachel waited patiently as Hood's side of the conversation consisted mostly of monosyllables. He finally hung up the phone with a look of satisfaction on his face.

"That was Mr. McNamara. He's agreed to meet us tonight. He told me that he'd meet us at 8:00 p.m. He's visiting his mother-in-law, Sharon James, he gave me the address."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel was surprised when the address she had carefully entered into her GPS turned out to be an assisted living facility rather than the apartment building they were expecting.

"Are you sure you gave me the right address?"

Jacob looked down at the numbers he had scribbled in his notebook. "Yes, I was assuming that this was his mother-in-law's address and apartment number, it must be her room number."

Jacob and Rachel made their way through the building and soon found the room McNamara had indicated. Through the open door they could see a middle-aged man talking to an elderly woman. Rachel shouldered past Hood, even here anticipating and protecting against any threat.

"Excuse me," she began.

At her words the elderly woman looked up and got to her feet with a wide smile. "Glory, honey, I'm so glad to see you!"

Rachel was about to correct the woman when she felt a slight pressure on her arm. She looked up to see Hood frown slightly and almost imperceptibly shake his head. The woman approached Rachel and, to her great discomfort, gave her a hug.

"It's so good to see you honey, I was hoping you'd be by."

"Ummm." Rachel looked over the woman's shoulder to the man who was mouthing the word "mom" to her. "It's good to see you too mom."

The woman released Rachel to gaze up at Jacob. "And who is this? Is this your new young man?" She leaned closer to Rachel and remarked in a loud whisper. "Your taste is improving dear; he's much better looking the last one."

Rachel smirked at the blush on Hood's cheeks. "This is Dr. Hood."

Her "mother" beamed. "A doctor? Yes, a _much_ better prospect than the last one." She turned to the middle-aged man. "Jonny, you'll have to excuse us. I'd like to visit with my daughter and her new beau."

The man smiled at the woman affectionately and kissed her cheek. "I'll be going now. But I'm going to have to borrow Glory and her friend for a few minutes." At the woman's protest he smiled and gave her a wink. "We're planning a little surprise for someone's birthday."

The woman smiled and nodded as they left the room.

The man led them down the hall into a small waiting room. As they settled themselves, Jacob introduced himself and Rachel. McNamara turned to her with a smile. "Thanks for playing along with Sharon. It makes it easier if you don't challenge her. It upsets her and by the time she calms down you're right back where you started."

Shaking his head sadly, he looked at Jacob. "But that's not why you're here. Why is the Special Science Advisor for the FBI interested in this case? The detective I talked to told me Gloria was the victim of a serial killer."

Jacob looked at the man thoughtfully. He didn't know how much information Coffey and Gilchrist were willing to release but he saw no reason not to tell this man the truth about his wife's death. That's what he would want if he was in McNamara's position.

"Detective Coffey may have been a bit premature in his conclusions. The medical examiner recently discovered that your wife and the other victims had synthetic coniine in their bodies. That they were on the verge of death when they were strangled."

"Coniine?" McNamara looked puzzled. "What the hell is that? And how did it get in my wife?"

"Coniine is a poison, a form of hemlock. As to how your wife ingested it," Jacob shrugged. "I'm not sure. I'm more interested in finding out if your wife was in contact with anyone who had a strong enough scientific background to manufacture the coniine."

"Gloria was an estate lawyer. She dealt with wills and trusts, family matters. If she had a client with a background like that, she never mentioned it to me. You'd have to check her files."

"What about her life outside of work," Jacob wanted to know. "Did she have any hobbies, outside interests, where she might have come across someone like that?"

McNamara sat back with a sigh and waved his hand around encompassing the waiting room. "This, this was Gloria's only outside interest for the last two years. Most evenings after work she's stop by here to visit and stay until her mother was ready for bed. Every weekend Gloria was here or she'd bring Sharon home to spend the day."

He looked at Rachel and Jacob bleakly. "I used to tell her she was killing herself, that she needed to take some time for herself. She told me that there'd be plenty of time for herself once her mother was gone."

Jacob nodded his head in understanding. "You're sure that your wife didn't know; have any contact with, the other victims?"

McNamara shook his head decisively. "No, Gloria and I were close, we shared everything. If she knew someone socially, outside of work, I knew them or about them. And I don't think they were clients."

At Jacob's cocked head he explained. "Gloria would have said something when the priest was killed if she was client. I mean, having a client who's a female priest and a murder victim is something you mention. As for the other woman," he shrugged. "I read about her in the paper. She didn't seem to have the kind of money Gloria's clients would have."

Jacob thanked the man for his cooperation and prepared to leave. McNamara indicated that he too was leaving and he walked out with them, quizzing Jacob on what he thought had happened.

As the door he offered Jacob his hand. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me here Dr. Hood, I appreciate it."

As he was shaking the man's hand, Jacob heard a timid voice behind him. "Uh, are you Dr. Jacob Hood?"

Rachel stepped in front of Jacob, her hand automatically reaching for the grip of her weapon. "Yes, yes he is. And you are?"

The woman blanched at being confronted by a woman who was not only carrying a gun but seemed to be prepared to use it. "Umm, I'm, uh, I'm Chris Fitzgerald? I had a message from a Dr. Jacob Hood?"

Rachel's eyebrows rose at the woman's name. She relaxed fractionally but did not remove her hand from her weapon. She recognized the name as the one of the friends of the third victim, Barbara Clarke. Hood had left a message on the woman's answering machine. But how did the woman know to find them here?

Jacob huffed in irritation. Rachel shared one characteristic of her predecessors; she didn't seem to mind scaring the crap out of anyone who approached him. Even harmless looking women like this one. Before he could reassure the woman, Rachel had begun an interrogation.

"Who told you that Dr. Hood would be here? How exactly did you manage to track him down?"

The woman's eyes widened. "Oh no, I'm not following you or anything. I work here. I'm working the overnight shift this week. I was asleep when Dr. Hood called; I was going to call him on my break."

Jacob intervened. "That's fine Mrs. Fitzgerald; do you have time to answer some questions now?"

The woman was clearly flustered. "Umm, now? I have to report in for my shift, if I'm late the other nurse can't leave." She thought a minute. "Look, if you don't mind waiting a little bit, I'll clock in, make my first rounds and then I'll have time to talk to you."

Jacob nodded. They followed the woman to the elevators and were soon back in a waiting room similar to the one in which they had been in with McNamara. As they waited, Jacob decided to speak to Rachel about her confrontation with Mrs. Fitzgerald.

"You do realize in order to do my job I have to talk to people."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Jacob frowned at the sarcasm. "Yes, and it isn't easy to get information out of people when they're frightened. Did you really have to go for your gun? Don't you think you might have been a little, um, trigger happy? She obviously wasn't a threat."

Rachel looked at Hood for a few moments internally debating if she should deliver the lecture, yet again, that when it came to his safety, she called the shots, not him. She decided to take another tack with him.

"Sara Jane Moore, Valerie Solanas, and Violet Gibson."

Jacob looked at her in confusion. "What? Who are they?"

"They are all women like Mrs. Fitzgerald. Ordinary looking women, not very impressive physically and outwardly calm, collected, even demure. And they were all assassins." She looked Hood in the eye. "_Any_ unknown person who approaches you is a potential threat and I _will_ deal with them as I see fit. _You_ do not have a say in the matter."

Jacob opened and shut his mouth, for once at a loss for words. He hated to admit it, but Rachel had a point. It was the worst kind of stereotyping to assume that a woman couldn't be a threat; he should know better. His lips twitched. After all, he was looking at a woman who could take down a man twice her size if needed. He considered apologizing and rejected the notion. It was still too early in their association for him to give her such a concession. They sat in silence until Mrs. Fitzgerald arrived.

Jacob cut short her flurry of apologies. "I understand you and Barbara were friends."

The woman crossed herself quickly. "Yes, God rest her soul. Since third grade at St. Margaret's."

"So what can you tell us about her? About how she spent her days?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at them sadly. "Well, you have to understand. Barb retired early 'cause of her heart, she couldn't take the stress of a real job. But with Ginny, her daughter grown and out on her own, she didn't have much to do at home. So she volunteered. She walked dogs for the shelter. And she did arts and crafts with old people in a home like this one."

Jacob looked dissatisfied with what he was hearing. "You're sure she didn't volunteer at a hospital or a laboratory of some kind?"

"Oh, no, nothing like that." She looked doubtful. "A laboratory? No, Barb didn't have any kind of experience with stuff like that. And definitely she wouldn't want to work in a hospital. It would have upset her to see young people, kids, who were real sick. She was much better off with the dogs and the old folks."

"Did she ever talk to you about the people she worked with? That she came into contact with during her day?"

"Some." Mrs. Fitzgerald thought carefully. "Mostly she talked about the old people she did crafts with. Is that the kind of thing you mean?"

Jacob shook his head, "Not exactly, but maybe."

Mrs. Fitzgerald continued. "She didn't mix too much with the people at the shelter, just went in to walk the dogs." She shrugged. "Aside from her volunteer work she didn't get out much. Her husband? Bill? He didn't like her to go out in the evenings."

"Well, thank you for your time, Mrs. Fitzgerald." Jacob stood and nodded to the woman. "You've been very helpful."

He and Rachel had just reached the door when Jacob stopped suddenly. He turned to Mrs. Fitzgerald. "Your friend, did she ever volunteer here?"

"No, she worked at the Agnes Scott Home; it was closer to her."

Nodding in acknowledgement, Jacob walked toward the elevator deep in thought. Rachel looked at him curiously, wondering what was going on in that head of his. Yes, it was a coincidence both women had a connection to old people, but so what? Coincidences happen. She decided to venture a question as they rode down the elevator.

"Why did you ask if the vic ever worked here? Do you think it could be important?"

Jacob frowned. He hated the way the agents, the police officers, tended to de-personalize the crimes they investigated. On one level he could understand the need to keep some distance. But overall it bothered him. These were people they were talking about damn it.

"I wondered if _Barbara_ ever worked here because I don't like coincidences. Right now the only thing we can find to link these two women is a connection to assisted living facilities. It would be rather compelling if they were connected to the same place."

Rachel raised an eyebrow. '_You don't like coincidences?'_ She would have thought a scientist would have a more rational response. "Well, you know what they say Hood, if there was no such thing as coincidences there wouldn't be a word for them."

She grinned at Hood's irritated face. But his face soon fell back into that vague look that meant he was thinking hard about something. Rachel gave a snort of exasperation and when Hood, in his preoccupation, bumped into a man who was trying to enter the elevator they were exiting. '_Was he born in a barn?'_

"Excuse us, Father," she said rather loudly.

As she had hoped, her voice broke through Hood's abstraction. The response though, wasn't what she expected.

"What did you say Rachel?"

"I said excuse me to that man you practically mowed down." She figured a little exaggeration wouldn't hurt.

Jacob's lips twitched. He recalled bumping into the man but he had been distracted by something. Something about the man had caught his attention but he had been pulled back into his thoughts before he could process it or even apologize. But he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was about the man that had intruded into his consciousness. He had the feeling though that Rachel's words were the key.

"I hardly touched him, but what exactly did you say? I'm sure you said more than excuse me."

"Not really," Rachel shook her head. "I said, excuse us Father, that's all."

"Father?"

"Yeah, he was a priest; he had on a Roman collar."

"A priest." Jacob's face became thoughtful and a slow smile spread across his face. "Ok, a priest, a concerned daughter, and a volunteer all walk into an assisted living facility, what do you have.?"

Rachel looked puzzled. "I don't know what?"

"The beginning of an answer." Jacob looked grim. "We need to find out if Father Gault paid any pastoral visits to assisted living facilities in the area. Now."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel managed to talk Hood out of making a late night phone call to Mrs. Howell, the priest's secretary. She pointed out that they had a copy of the priest's calendar. He should be able to get the information he needed from it. She was proved correct when Jacob discovered Reverend Gault had been making weekly visits to a parishioner, not in an assisted living facility, but in a nursing home. Rachel was surprised to find that she was beginning to agree with Hood, she didn't think she liked coincidences either.

Rachel got to her feet with a yawn. Hood had been working at the desk in his room and she figured it was time for her to tuck him in, figuratively speaking, and get herself to bed.

"We'll need to share this with Gilly and Coffey, but I think it can wait until tomorrow."

"Share it? What do you mean?"

Rachel looked at him in disbelief. "You dug up a credible lead in this case. Of course you need to report it to the two officers in charge of the investigation." She couldn't believe Hood was ignorant of proper protocol. More likely he didn't think the others were intelligent enough to follow up on the information he discovered.

Jacob looked at Rachel impatiently. "Share what? A random set of data with no real connection?" Surely she was intelligent enough to understand that correlation does not imply causation. In reality, the information they discovered, as it stood, was meaningless, if interesting.

"It's not as if these women are all connected to the same place," Jacob continued. "That…." he trailed off lost in thought.

"That what Hood," Rachel demanded. "Complete sentences please."

Jacob turned back to his desk and flipped open his laptop. "Wait a minute, Rachel, maybe they _are_ connected to the same place."

Rachel looked on curiously as Hood, checking his notes pulled up the web sites for each facility. In a few moments he sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. He had found the connection; all of the facilities were owned by the same corporation.

"Now that," he said with satisfaction, "is something worth reporting."


	3. Chapter 3

"See, I was right," crowed Coffey. "There is a serial killer. He's killing people he meets in old folks homes."

Gilchrist looked doubtful. "I still say no. I mean, yeah, these women _were_ all visiting these places, but for different reasons." He grew a little more animated. "Now if they were all children visiting parents, then yeah, maybe. Maybe it's a killer targeting people he thinks warehoused their parents. But we don't have that here."

"I still say I'm right," Coffey said stubbornly. "I'm gonna check out the corporate records, see how many employees work in all three places." He gathered up his things. "Thanks for the lead Doc, I appreciate the help. I'll let you know what I find out."

"Talk about a one track mind." Gilchrist shook his head. "He was right about one thing; this is a great lead Dr. Hood. I'm going to check in at the local field office, see what they know about this company."

Rachel looked at Hood uncertainly. They had never been out in the field before and she wasn't sure what was next. Surely the rest of the case would be up to Gilly and Coffey? She couldn't imagine what Hood might add to the investigation. But he was still sitting there with that look on his face.

"So, what now? Do we pack up and head back to DC?"

Jacob roused himself from his thoughts and considered Rachel's question. "No, not until I've tracked down who was making that coniine. Checking into the corporation is all well and good but we need to take a closer look at those places."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

For the rest of the day they checked and re-checked all of the contacts the three women had with the various homes. Slowly patterns began to emerge. Gloria McNamara had befriended several of the staff and other residents of the home in which her mother resided. She was especially concerned about the patients who seldom if ever had visitors. She took a keen interest not only in her mother's care but also the care of those who she 'adopted.'

Reverend Gault did not confine herself to visiting her parishioner during her visits to the nursing home. She would sit and offer comfort to staff or the other patients and their families if they asked for her assistance. According to Mrs. Howell, the priest was concerned some of the elderly patients there had few or no visitors. She was convinced this was why they weren't getting better; because they were lonely and depressed.

Barbara Clarke was a well-liked volunteer. She was always cheerful and never lost her patience when dealing with the dementia patients. She used to laugh and tell the nurses working with them reminded her of working with her Brownie troop years ago. She was genuinely fond of the people who came to her arts and crafts sessions and would visit them in their rooms when they became too feeble to come to the common room.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jacob had been questioning Steven McNamara about his wife's impressions about the people in the facility in which his mother-in-law resided. He was trying to fit in what he was hearing with what he had been told earlier about Barbara Clarke and he lost the thread of the conversation.

"Would you mind repeating what you just said?"

McNamara looked at him in surprise. "I said that Gloria was concerned about a couple of the patients on Sharon's floor. She thought they were getting frailer, more feeble. She couldn't understand it; they weren't unhealthy, just suffering from dementia. She was especially upset when Mrs. Dudek died."

Jacob thanked the man abruptly and hustled Rachel from the room. As they drove back to the hotel, he called Mrs. Fitzgerald. Mystified, Rachel tried to make sense of his conversation. He was asking her about the "feeble" patients about whom Barb had expressed concern. He also called Mrs. Howell about the patients the Reverend Gault had been visiting. Before Rachel could ask him what was up, he was on the phone again, this time to Gilchrist. He requested that both Gilchrist and Coffey meet him and Rachel at their hotel.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The two law men were skeptical when Jacob outlined his hypothesis to them. He explained that shortly before their deaths, each of the three women was expressing concern about some of the patients. Two of them were worried that the patients seemed to be getting worse physically for no apparent reason. One of those patients had actually died.

"Come on Doc," Coffey protested. "These people are old, in assisted living, nursing homes. What do you expect?"

"I expect," Jacob said impatiently, "healthy people to stay that way absent any disease. I expect sick people, who are not terminal, to improve when receiving proper medical care. A loss of physical health is not an inevitable part of aging. I think this is something that you should look into."

"Nah," Coffey shook his head. "Sorry Doc, but old people, they get sick, they get feeble, they die."

He stood to leave with a smirk. "I've got a much better lead to follow-up. One of the maintenance men worked in all three places right before the murders. I'm having him brought in for questioning."

Gilchrist looked at Jacob doubtfully. "I don't know, Dr. Hood. I resisted the idea of a serial killer, but I have to say that Coffey's suspect is a viable candidate. It makes more sense than what you're proposing."

"I still think this avenue needs to be explored. Could you check on the status of those patients for me? I'd like to see Mrs. Dudek's death certificate also. And I'd like to see what you found out about the corporation that owns all of these facilities."

Gilchrist promised to follow up on the patients and get a copy of the certificate. He would email it all to Rachel as soon as possible. Before leaving to join Coffey in his interrogation of the maintenance man, he turned over to Dr. Hood all of the print-outs he had accumulated on the Starlight Corporation.

Jacob spent the next hour going over the material Gilchrist had accumulated. Rachel sat slumped in her chair wondering exactly where Hood thought he was going in this investigation. Old people getting feeble, weaker, seemed normal to her just as it had to Coffey. Gilly hadn't said anything, but she could tell he agreed with them. She sat up abruptly when Hood got an "ah-ha" look on his face.

"What, what did you find?"

"It seems that the Starlight Corporation, in addition to owning a chain of nursing homes and assisted living facilities, owns a small pharmaceutical company; one that's headquartered here in Buffalo."

Jacob looked at her, with his head tilted to one side. "Now isn't _that_ a coincidence."

"And you don't like coincidences." Rachel echoed his earlier words. She scrambled to her feet as Hood began to head for the door. "Hey, where are you going?"

"We need to check this place out."

"Wait a second." Rachel caught Hood by the arm. She looked at him uncertainly, chewing her lip in thought. One the one hand, it was foolish to let him blunder into a dangerous situation. If he was correct, this lab was the source of the poison and someone in that lab had murdered three times already. On the other hand, he had the qualifications to evaluate the lab, the people working there. It was something he knew more about than either Coffey or Gilly.

"We need to talk about this," she began cautiously. "Look, Hood, I'm not sure this is such a good idea. After all, you don't know who you want to see, what you hope to find, nothing. How are you going to explain your interest in this place?"

Jacob looked at her in surprise. His previous handlers weren't much for discussions, they preferred to issue edicts. "What? We're visiting a semi-public place; how could that be a security problem?

"This could be dangerous. I'm assuming you think this place might be the source of the coniine. If it is, you could be putting yourself at risk; I may not be able to protect you."

Jacob gave a small snort of irritation. "I would think, Rachel, that you could give me a little credit. I don't intend to walk in there and ask if they've been poisoning people. I just want to get a look at their labs, see what they're working on."

"How do you plan to do that? Walk in and say 'hi, I'm here for a tour?" Rachel asked sarcastically.

"Pretty much." He smiled briefly at the look of skepticism on her face. "You have to understand, I'm not exactly an unknown in the pharmaceutical world. They'll be glad to show me around."

Rachel looked at Hood for a few minutes, weighing the risks in her mind. Was this an example of the arrogance the others had warned her about? This feeling he was such a hot-shot scientist everyone would fall all over him, accept his presence without question? Her brow creased in thought. She didn't get that vibe from him though; he seemed pretty matter of fact about the whole thing. She came to a decision.

"Fine, let's go. But I'm gonna call Gilly and let him know where we're headed, just in case."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel was amazed to find Hood was right. Gordon Rasher, the president of Biotech Pharmaceuticals was delighted to see him. Rasher made several gushing references to some papers he had published and inquired about the status of some patent or other.

She wasn't quite sure how he did it, but without saying anything definite, Hood had managed to give the impression that while, yes, he was currently with the FBI, he was thinking of returning to pure research. Rasher was more than happy to show them through the labs, to discuss with Hood the research the company was undertaking.

Keeping a polite smile plastered on her face, Rachel trailed the two men as they toured the facility. Ignoring their conversation, she focused on the people they were meeting and passing in the hallways. One man in particular caught and kept her attention.

Unlike the other workers who seemed impressed with Hood, happy to meet him, this guy was more aloof, standoffish. What had her on alert was that he, while not trying to engage Hood or Rasher in conversation, kept shadowing them on the tour. She also couldn't shake the gnawing feeling that she had seen him before.

They finished the tour and Hood had taken a courteous leave of Rasher. As soon as they were back in the SUV Rachel looked at him inquisitively.

"Well, are those labs the source of the coniine?"

"Any lab is capable of producing coniine," Jacob answered dismissively. "I wasn't looking for that."

"Then what the hell were we doing there?" Rachel demanded. "I thought you said…"

"That it was a coincidence that the corporation connected to these murders should also own a pharmaceutical company," Jacob interrupted. "And it still is a coincidence; our tour did nothing to explain it."

Rachel took a deep breath. "Let's start over. Did you see anything that suggested to you that we should take a closer look at Biotech?"

Jacob nodded approvingly. That was a much better question. "Yes, the amount of research they're doing into new drugs is unusual. That bears looking into."

"I don't understand. I thought that's how these companies made money, inventing new stuff?"

"Yeah, if you're big pharma." Jacob shook his head, "Not a small regional outfit like this one. I would have expected a firm like Biotech to be making generics for the local markets. Frankly, if that was all they had been doing that, it would explain the connection."

At Rachel's raised eyebrow he elaborated. "It would mean that they were supplying drugs to their own medical facilities, a good cost-saving measure. But this research…," he shrugged.

"But you don't think it's connected to the murders?"

"I don't know. It's just strange. I'd like to get a look at their financials."

"That shouldn't be a problem, I'll call Gilly," Rachel said.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

They hadn't been back to the hotel for long before Agent Gilchrist showed up. He had the information Jacob had requested and a discouraged expression on his face.

"Hey, Gilly, what's up?" Rachel asked.

He heaved a sigh. "Coffey's lead, the maintenance man? It was a dud. The guy had an alibi for all three of the murders. Plus," he continued, "he didn't actually work at all three places. The week he was supposed to be at the nursing home he called off sick with the flu. Never went there at all."

He turned to Jacob. "So I hope these financials give you some ideas Dr. Hood. We're pretty much at a standstill right now."

Jacob accepted the paperwork with a small murmur of thanks. He poured over the material while Rachel and Gilchrist quietly talked. After a few moments, he flipped back a few pages to check what he had already read. His face showed that he was puzzled by what he found.

"Agent Gilchrist, are these reports complete?"

Gilchrist shrugged. "As complete as I can get without a warrant. I couldn't get their tax returns, but you've got their latest SEC filings and the financial statement from their annual report. Why?"

Jacob looked at the two agents speculatively. "What do you know about the drug business?"

Rachel rolled her eyes; she could feel a story coming on. "They charge to much money for their products. What's your point here Hood?"

"There's a reason new drug prices are high," Jacob retorted. "Research and development are incredibly expensive. You don't only have the cost of the labs, which are significant, but you have the cost of the clinical trials. It can be years before a company can make back the cost of developing a single new drug."

"Ok, I'm following you so far," Gilchrist said. "It costs money to make money, that's a basic business fact. What's bothering you about the financials for Biotech?"

"Simply put, this company doesn't have nearly enough financial resources to be doing the work I saw today. According to their president, they're working on no fewer than three new drugs. There is no way they could afford the clinical trials on one new drug let alone three."

"Why are clinical trials expensive," Rachel asked, puzzled. "I can see where it takes time, but money? I would think sick people would try new drugs for free on the off chance they would help."

Jacob stared at her for a few moments as a sad expression flickered across his face. He shook his head slightly to bring himself back to the present. "You have to understand, thousands of people are involved in the clinical trials for a new drug. The volunteers who are ill wouldn't be involved until phase three of the trials. The volunteers in phase zero and phase one would have to be paid."

"Phase zero? What the hell are you talking about?" Gilchrist demanded.

Jacob explained patiently. "Phase zero is a recent addition to the clinical trials protocol. Basically, a small group of healthy volunteers are given a subtherapeutic dose of a drug to see how the body reacts to the drug and how the drug reacts to the body. If there aren't any major problems, then you go on to phase one. Phase one also works with healthy volunteers and you need a pretty sizable group. All of these people would expect to be paid."

Rachel looked at Hood in horror. "You give drugs to healthy people to see if it makes them sick? Isn't that unethical or something? I thought the doctor's oath was 'first, do no harm?"

Jacob shrugged. "Not at all. The volunteers are informed of all the risks and they're carefully monitored."

"I don't care," Rachel ranted. "Who would volunteer to do something like that? They'd have to be desperate for money, its taking advantage of…."

Gilchrist cleared his throat. "Uh, Rachel? I actually took part in a couple of drug trials in college." At her look of shock he grinned sheepishly. "What can I say? It was easy beer money."

Jacob nodded. "College students often offer themselves up as guinea pigs. They're a good target audience, healthy, well-nourished, and intelligent enough to alert the researchers if they feel that something isn't right."

He arched a brow at Rachel. "Contrary to the opinions of _some_ people, those conducting clinical trials don't prey upon…" A look of horror crossed Jacob's face. "Those _bastards_," he spat out.

Gilchrist looked at Hood in surprise. Rachel was quicker at understanding his anger. "You think they're using the patients as test subjects? Without telling them?"

"Telling them would be irrelevant." Jacob snapped. "Most of the patients at those assisted living places are suffering from dementia, they couldn't have given consent. This has to be how they can afford to conduct the trials, by using unsuspecting victims."

"But Dr. Hood," objected Gilchrist. "You can't assume that. Maybe the patient's families gave permission. Maybe they're getting a price break, after all those places are expensive."

"Maybe," Jacob conceded. "We need more detailed financials on Biotech, see exactly what they're spending on their trials."

"I should be able to convince the Bureau we have enough for a warrant," Gilchrist stood to leave, "I'll get right on it."

"Wait, did you check up on those patients like I asked? Get me the death certificate?"

"Uh, yeah," said Gilchrist. "I did."

Jacob looked at Rachel accusingly. He couldn't believe she hadn't passed the information on to him immediately. Just because _she_ didn't understand the point of his requests didn't mean _he_ didn't need the information as soon as it became available. Before he could upbraid her Gilchrist spoke up.

"I, ah, forgot to send it to Rachel." He pulled out his phone and punched a few buttons. "There, she has the report and the death certificate now. I, uh, have to go check in with my office." He thankfully escaped from the room.

Rachel pulled out her phone and scrolled down to the emails that Gilly has sent her. She opened the report and with the briefest of hesitations handed her phone over to Hood.

Jacob noted her hesitation with a small smile. _'What, she's afraid that I'll snoop into her email?'_ Jacob briefly considered doing just that but his attention was quickly caught by what was on the small screen. "Damn it, of those patients, another one of them has died and the rest are all bed-ridden, not expected to last long."

He paused and handed the phone back to Rachel. He requested that she pull up Mrs. Dudek's death certificate. Rachel was surprised but gratified by this small courtesy. She glanced at the screen before handing the phone back to Hood.

"Nothing out of the ordinary, she died of a heart attack."

"Really?" Jacob took the proffered phone and carefully read through the document. "No, she didn't. According to this she died from cardiac arrest."

"Isn't that the same thing?"

"No, a heart attack would be listed as a myocardial infarction. Cardiac arrest? That's not a diagnosis, that's an evasion."

"What do you mean an evasion? The doctor has a legal obligation to list the actual cause of death."

Jacob was taken aback. In their brief time together he had pegged Rachel as a bit cynical and definitely no-nonsense. That she would have such faith in people fulfilling their legal obligations was touching.

"It's done all the time and it is, after all, technically correct. You do know what cardiac arrest means?"

"Of course I do, I'm not an idiot," Rachel snapped. "It means your heart stopped beating."

"I didn't mean to insult you," Jacob began. "But you have to realize, cardiac arrest means exactly what you said, the heart stopped beating." He stopped her response with a lift of his eyebrow. "What it doesn't tell you is _why_ the heart stopped beating."

"Why would the doctor give a certificate like that?" Rachel paused as she processed Hood's earlier assertion. "And what do you mean, it happens all the time."

"To spare the family," Jacob replied. "In cases of unexpected death if there's no suspicion of foul play most doctors are reluctant to do an autopsy. They don't want to upset anyone. In this case we have an elderly woman who from all accounts was not doing well." He gave a small shrug. "It happens more than you would like to think. Unless there is clear-cut evidence of something wrong, most doctors will go with cardiac arrest without batting an eye."

Rachel sat thinking about what Hood had said. It raised several disturbing possibilities about this case. "So what's next? Are you going to try to get order to exhume the bodies?" She hesitated, "do you think they might have been poisoned with coniine too? "

"I'm not sure we'll need to do that. I think it might be just as effective to posit that these two patients didn't die from natural causes. If we can determine who had access to those patients, our victims, and the labs at Biotech, we should have a viable suspect."

In spite of herself, Rachel was impressed with Hood's reasoning. He might act a little odd at times but his mind was relentlessly logical. But Rachel could spot a flaw in Hood's thinking. "That's already been tried," she objected. "Those employee lists Coffey and Gilly had. They only identified one guy and he couldn't have been the perp."

"No, the connection is going to be much more subtle than that," Jacob answered slowly. "If my hypothesis is correct, the person involved is going to have to be someone in the background."

Hood's words triggered Rachel's memory. Someone in the background. "Uh, Hood, there was someone at Biotech who caught my attention. He was in the background all the time, like you said."

"I didn't mean literally in the background, I meant…" He stopped at Rachel's look of irritation. "Who are you talking about?"

"I don't know his name, I wasn't really paying that much attention to what you and Rasher were talking about." Rachel, intent on what she was remembering, missed the flash of amusement on Jacob's face. "He was one of the ones with his own office. He was a bit like you; your height, build, middle-aged, but light-ish hair."

Jacob raised his eyebrows but quickly changed his mind about correcting Rachel. It seemed a bit petty to point out if she was talking about the man he suspected she was, according to the diplomas hanging on that office wall, the man was about the same age as Jacob himself. He may have just had his forty-first birthday but that didn't make him middle-aged. He narrowed his eyes, was she trying to needle him?

Rachel was oblivious to Hood's disgruntled reaction. "It was kinda strange. He was the only one who didn't seem thrilled to meet you. Even so, he kept following you around. He tried not to be obvious about it, but he _was_ following you. It was as if he was trying to eavesdrop on you and Rasher."

"That sounds like Philip Lygate," Jacob looked thoughtful. "He's in charge of development for Biotech."

"There's something else. I could swear that I've seen him before."

Jacob shook his head. "The fact he reminds you of someone is not significant."

"That's not what I said," Rachel cut in, exasperated. "I _said_ that I'm sure I've seen him before; not someone who looks like him." She was satisfied to see that she had taken Hood aback. "Considering the limited number of places I've been in Buffalo, I think that's plenty significant."

"How can you be sure?" Jacob asked curiously. "I mean, he's not that distinctive, maybe you…" He trailed off at the look on Rachel's face.

"I case you've forgotten I'm a trained federal agent. Part of that training is to closely observe people." She shook her head in irritation. "I just remember noting him and dismissing him as a potential threat."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you dismiss him as a threat," Jacob answered patiently. "Think about it, use your professional judgment. What was going on and why did you dismiss him as threat?"

Rachel obediently closed her eyes and tried to remember where she had seen the Lygate before. As she had told Hood, she was trained to observe people but she didn't have total recall of everyone they met. There was something about this man that had drawn her attention. She carefully ran down in her mind's eye the places they had been and they people they had come into contact with.

Her eyes snapped open. "It was the night we met McNamara at the assisted living facility. He stuck his head into the room where we were talking. I thought at first he wanted to talk to either McNamara or you but he left without speaking. I looked for him when we left, to see if he was hanging around, but he wasn't so I didn't worry about him anymore."

Jacob was impressed with her performance. She might not pay attention to what others were saying to him but she certainly was paying attention to her, and by extension, his surroundings. If Rachel said Lygate was at the assisted living facility, then they needed to check him out.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Armed with a picture from the company's annual report they soon discovered he was a regular visitor at both the nursing home and the two assisted living facilities. The staff all spoke highly of him. He was unfailingly polite and always brought small gifts and goodies for them. But their biggest break came in a discussion with Chris Fitzgerald. Alone of the staff of the assisted living facility, she was not a fan of Dr. Lygate. She was suspicious of him.

"He only comes in late at night, it's like he's trying to avoid people," she said to Jacob and Rachel.

"Well, he works during the day," Jacob reasoned. "Perhaps that's why he comes when he does."

"Nuh-uh," Mrs. Fitzgerald snorted. "Then how come he never comes on the weekend?" She shook her head as Jacob opened his mouth. "And don't say that he has other things to do on the weekends. It's not like he spends all that much time here. Just checks the meds, looks in on a couple of patients, that's all. He doesn't spend more than an hour here; he could easily do that on the weekend. No, I figure he comes in when he does to avoid people. People who might ask questions."

Jacob stiffened. "What do you mean, he checks meds? He's not a medical doctor, whose, what, medicines is he checking?"

Mrs. Fitzgerald looked at them in surprise. "Oh, didn't you know? He's in charge of Biotech's Medical Assistance Program." At Jacob's look of confusion, she explained. "It's pretty nice, really. Biotech has a program that will give medicine free to people who can't afford it."

She shook her head sadly. "A lot of the poor dears in here, they've used up all their money and their families can only cover the basics. So a program like that one can be a god-send. Well, Dr. Lygate checks on the drug supply of the patients in the program."

"Do you think you could get me a list of the patients here who are in this program?" Jacob asked.

"Sure, no problem." Mrs. Fitzgerald turned to the computer at the nurse's station. The printer was soon spitting out the list Jacob requested. Mrs. Fitzgerald glanced over it before handing it over. "Huh, that's odd; I never really noticed that before."

"What's that?"

"It's just all the patients in the program; all of them are what we call orphan patients. They're the ones whose families never come to visit."

"How very convenient," Jacob murmured. "Thank you Mrs. Fitzgerald, you've been very helpful." He silently pointed out one name on the list to Rachel. Mrs. Dudek had been in the program.

Jacob and Rachel retraced their steps to the nursing home and the assisted living facility where Barbara Clarke had worked. In both places they were able to confirm all of the patients who were part of the drug program administered by Dr. Lygate were those who seldom if ever received visitors. Not only that, but all of the patients the three murder victims had been concerned about were also members of the program.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

As they sat in the SUV outside the nursing home, Jacob reviewed the information they had collected about Lygate, the Medical Assistance Program, and the patients. In his view, they wove a damning chain of evidence.

"This is it, I'm sure of it." Jacob declared. "Lygate and Biotech must be running illegal drug trials in those places." He looked at Rachel, "that's why he murdered those women; they must have somehow discovered what he was doing. We need to arrest him, now."

Rachel was dissatisfied. "You're making a pretty big leap there. How could those women have discovered that? They didn't have the authority to look at any records, to see who was in the program or not. Sure, we can connect Lygate to the patients and the patients to our vics, but there's nothing to connect Lygate to our vics."

"Well then," Jacob said briskly. "We'd better get going."

"Where?"

"If we're going to connect Lygate to our victims, we're going to have to have to talk to our three contacts again. But first," he took a deep breath and looked at Rachel sideways. "I want to talk to Lygate again."

Rachel tightened her lips. Technically, she only had the authority to countermand Hood's orders when he wanted to pursue a course of action that would put his life in jeopardy. Solving the case was his job; her job was to see to it no one killed him while he did it. But this was such an incredibly stupid idea she couldn't believe Hood actually wanted to do it. She figured he must be convinced that Lygate was guilty and was itching to confront the man.

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?"

"I hardly think it's a security risk," Jacob said sarcastically. "He's not likely to try and strangle me with you standing right there." He smirked. "And if he offers me anything to eat or drink, I promise to let you try it first."

Rachel looked at him coldly. Just when she was beginning to think maybe he wasn't such a jerk after all, he said stuff like that.

"I was thinking more along the lines of his destroying evidence. What are you going to ask him? If he knew any of the vics? If his company is preying on helpless people? You'll only succeed in alerting him to the fact you suspect him. He'll either destroy any evidence or take off, Gilly and Coffey might never be able to convict him."

Jacob pursed his lips as he considered her words. He hated to admit it, but she was right. This was the part of the work he did for the FBI he found the most difficult. Remembering that the kind of proof that would hold up in a lab might not be enough for a court of law. He also knew if he went to Coffey and Gilchrist with what he had so far, they would tell him everything was circumstantial. Until he could connect Lygate with the three murder victims, he didn't have enough.

"Ok, let's go back in and see if any of the staff here can connect Lygate with Barbara Clarke."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Jacob wasn't having much luck in his quest to connect Lygate to the murder victims. The staff members he talked to in the facility where Barbara volunteered had almost resented her concerns about some of the patients. They said she had been making a pest of herself, asking inappropriate questions about the type and amount of medicine the patients were receiving. The staff members had been offended; they thought she had been implying they were over-medicating the patients to make their jobs easier. They were puzzled by Jacob's questions about Barb and Lygate; the two had never been in the facility at the same time.

Mrs. Howell was annoyed at being awakened by Jacob's phone call. She icily informed him if he were to call on her at the church office the next day; she would gladly go over Reverend Gault's appointments with him then.

His luck changed however, when he met up with McNamara. The man had been visiting his mother-in-law and was headed home. He gratefully accepted Jacob's offer to buy him a cup of coffee in exchange for answering a few more questions.

McNamara was intrigued by the theory Jacob outlined for him. That Biotech was using unsuspecting patients as guinea pigs in their drug trials. He thought it was in line with his wife's concerns. Jacob was surprised by his reaction when he asked if his wife ever had any contact with Lygate.

"Lygate?" McNamara narrowed his eyes. "Is that slimy bastard behind all of this? Hell yes, Gloria had contact with him. She chewed his ass out good a few days before she was killed."

It seemed that Lygate had overhead her discussing Mrs. Dudek's deteriorating condition with some of the staff. Gloria had been wondering if the medication the old woman was now taking was the reason. She was badgering the staff to share with her the purpose of the new prescription.

Lygate had interrupted the conversation to remind the staff that not only did Gloria not have any right to that information; it would be against the law to supply it to her. He patronizing continued to tell Gloria that as she wasn't a physician, she wasn't in any position to make judgments on Mrs. Dudek's condition.

"Pretty much told her not to bother her pretty little head about it." McNamara snorted. "Gloria went up like a fire cracker. She told Lygate in no uncertain terms it didn't take a doctor to see that Mrs. Dudek was getting worse since she started taking those meds. And she might not be a doctor, but she was a lawyer, if she couldn't get the Dudek family to check into things she might go to court to get herself appointed a special guardian."

Jacob nodded with satisfaction. Gloria McNamara was threatening to take steps that would expose the illegal drug trials. That would definitely make her a target for Lygate. While he couldn't connect Lygate to Barbara Clarke, he hoped that his session with Mrs. Howell would be productive.

As they took their leave of McNamara, Jacob looked at the elevator buttons pensively. It was late, but it wouldn't hurt to check. As Rachel reached out to push the down button, he laid a hand on her arm.

"No, let's go upstairs first. I want to see if Mrs. Fitzgerald is still on duty. Maybe Barbara said something about Lygate to her friend."

Jacob's luck continued to hold. Mrs. Fitzgerald was not only on duty, but ready to take a break. She was happy to talk to him again. He thought his luck had come to an end when she told him that no; her friend had never met Dr. Lygate.

Jacob thanked her for her time and was preparing to leave when she stopped him, hesitantly. "Uh, why do you want to know if Barb ever met him?"

Once again Jacob outlined his hypothesis about the illegal drug trials. "Plus it turns out that one of the other victims had a confrontation with Lygate about the way some patients were reacting to their new medications." He shrugged. "I was wondering if your friend and the other victim had a similar connection."

Mrs. Fitzgerald turned white. "Oh my God, do you really think Dr. Lygate had something to do with Barb's death?"

"I don't know," Jacob replied honestly. "He certainly has a motive and the means, but since he never met your friend…"

"But he knew about her," Mrs. Fitzgerald blurted out. "Oh my God, it's my fault Barb's dead. I told him about her." She burst into tears.

Jacob stood awkwardly staring at the crying woman. He was amazed when the ever-so-correct, slightly chilly Agent Young put her arm around the woman comfortingly. "Shh, no, it's not your fault. The only one responsible for your friend's death is the bastard who murdered her. Now, tell Dr. Hood all about it."

She nodded tearfully. "It's like this. One day Barb was complaining to me about the patients at the place she volunteered. She thought some of the nurses and aides were giving meds to the healthy dementia patients, to make them easier to control. But no one over there was taking her seriously. She wondered if I could ask one of the doctors here what she should do."

She took a deep breath. "Dr. Lygate came in that night and I decided to ask him about it. If what Barb thought was happening was even plausible. He promised to look into it, but then two days later Barb was dead and I forgot all about it."

"You're sure you told him your friend's name? Where she worked?"

"Of course I did," she gave a small sob. "I needed him to take this seriously. He couldn't have done anything if he didn't know who she was or where she worked."

Jacob gravely thanked the woman for her assistance. As they rode down the elevator Jacob looked at Rachel. "I need to talk to Mrs. Howell. Now."

"Not tonight," she answered firmly. "You heard her on the phone. If you were to show up on her doorstep now, she'd probably refuse to talk to you. Look," she continued as Hood showed signs of arguing with her, "tomorrow is soon enough. Gilly and Coffey probably couldn't get search warrants this late at night anyway."

"But Lygate," Jacob protested.

Rachel cut him off. "Lygate nothing. If he _is_ guilty, he's most likely hunkering down. He probably never thought he'd have to deal with a full-scale FBI investigation into these murders. I think it's safe to wait a few more hours."

Jacob reluctantly nodded in agreement.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mrs. Howell greeted them somewhat apologetically. "I'm sorry I was so abrupt last night Dr. Hood. I know you're working so hard to find out who did these awful murders. It's just…" She trailed off as she showed them into Reverend Gault's office.

"I may have found something." Jacob looked at her earnestly. "Do you know if Reverend Gault knew or had any contact with a Dr. Philip Lygate? I'd especially like to know if she had met with him recently."

"Lygate? The name does seem familiar," Mrs. Howell said slowly. "Let me see." She picked up the Reverend's appointment book and began flipping through it. Her faced cleared. "Oh, yes, here it is. Reverend Gault had an appointment with Dr. Lygate shortly before her death."

"Did she say why she wanted to see him?" Jacob asked.

"Not really, I assumed it was about that Medical Assistance Program his company runs."

Jacob looked taken aback. "It wasn't about the condition of the patients she met with in the nursing home?"

"Oh, no," Mrs. Howell shook her head. "I wouldn't think so. I know that she had been asking people about the program. No one seemed to know anything about it and Reverend Gault was interested. I thought she wanted to convince Dr. Lygate to expand the program to include some of the people who come to our soup kitchen."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Coffey was initially resistant, he hated to give up the idea of a serial killer. But as Jacob laid out what he had discovered about the patients, the drug program, and the connections between them and the murder victims, even he became convinced. The most damning evidence was the connections Jacob had unearthed between Lygate and each of the victims.

The lawmen both agreed that there was plenty of probable cause for warrants to be issued. They soon were searching Lygate's home, car, office and the labs at Biotech. The crime scene technicians found traces of synthetic coniine in a small lab Lygate maintained in his home. Coffey was especially pleased when not only ribbon, identical to what had been tied around the victim's necks, but also traces of two of the victims were found in Lygate's car.

At Jacob's suggestion, they also got warrants to confiscate the medicines the patients in the Medical Assistance Program were receiving. An analysis of the pills proved they weren't the tranquillizers or blood pressure meds the nurses thought they were dispensing. Instead they were drugs to control gout and tuberculosis; drugs that were currently under development at Biotech.

Faced with the evidence, Lygate quickly broke down and confessed. Jacob had been right on all counts. He was using the patients in the nursing homes and assisted living facilities the Starlight Corporation owned to conduct the phase zero and phase one of his clinical trials. He purposely selected those patients who were physically sound and whose relatives were out of touch. He had been shocked when three total strangers began to raise a fuss about their condition.

Rachel had been correct about why he had used the coniine. While Lygate had no trouble using helpless patients as guinea pigs, he wasn't sure he could handle murdering able-bodied women. In each case, he would meet the victim for coffee. When she would begin to complain of feeling numb, Lygate would insist on driving her to the hospital. He would then drive to a secluded location and finish her off by strangling her and tying a bow around her neck. As Gilchrist surmised, Lygate had hoped this would throw off the police. He hoped in their search for a serial killer, they would never discover his connection to the three women.

As the case wound down, Rachel began to wonder when they would be leaving Buffalo. After Lygate confessed she had tentatively asked Hood if she should make arrangements for their flight back to DC. He had looked at her blankly for a few seconds and then murmured no; he wasn't quite done here yet. She thought she understood when, in response to one of his phone calls, a team of investigators from the FDA descended on Biotech. She figured Hood wanted to make sure no one else at the lab was involved in Lygate's scheme.

It wasn't only the operations at Biotech Hood was concerned with. In addition to the time he spent there, he spent an equal amount of time visiting with those Rachel termed the civilians. They took tea with Mrs. Howell, had lunch with Mrs. Fitzgerald, and sat with Mr. McNamara and his mother-in-law. Rachel was amazed Hood spent so much time patiently answering their questions, explaining exactly what had happened to their loved ones. It was several days before he indicated they could finally return to DC.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Rachel relaxed with a sigh of relief as they finally reached cruising altitude. She intended to enjoy the respite the two hour flight gave her. She fished her iPod out of her carryon, plugged in her earbuds and, closing her eyes, was soon rocking out to Nine Inch Nails. Hood, her resentment at being pulled from Counter-terrorism, everything, was driven from her mind as the music washed over her.

Jacob shifted uncomfortably in the window seat. He turned to his companion and his mouth twisted in disappointment. He wished he could order her to talk to him. He could use someone to talk to right now; someone to hash over this case, to allow him to come to terms with the ugliness, the greed. She was the first of his handlers he actually_ wanted_ to talk to. While she didn't say much, what she did say was worth listening too.

Thinking about the case, he thought she had shown potential as a bodyguard. Unlike the others she was stubborn enough to stand up to him, had a streak of curiosity, and a sense of humor. And, at times, she acted almost human. _'You never know,'_ he thought as he settled back to read the inflight magazine, _'this one might work out after all.'_


End file.
